


Autumn Rhapsody

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [35]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-25
Updated: 2004-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Quinn sample seasonal delights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn Rhapsody

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For Alex, my friend and beta.

The sound of leaves crunching underfoot on a Friday afternoon in October can be more captivating than a task at hand. Quinn and Ian were finishing up the last office hours of the week, windows open to catch the autumn breeze, when they heard crackling on the little-used path to the side entrance of their building.

"It's the peak of the leaf-turning season, lad," Quinn said, looking up from his PDA.

Ian came over to sit in Quinn's student chair. "And I know just how to enjoy it. Let's cycle up to Hotham tomorrow."

Quinn was delighted with Ian's suggestion. He'd been considering a bike ride on the trails for a few weeks now. "Good idea, Ian. We've only explored a fraction of the paths in the area."

"The road goes ever on and on," said Ian, unable to resist an apropos quote from Tolkien.

Quinn grinned. "Autumn is definitely Fellowship season, lad. Who can stay indoors?"

"I always get the itch to read it in October. Somehow anything seems possible at this time of year." Ian gave Quinn a slow smile.

"Unlimited potential," Quinn said, nodding. "And the semester's only a few weeks old. I tend to do more research now than over the summer, even though we have so much time then."

Ian said, "Me too. I've worked harder on our paper in the last fortnight than I have for the past three months."

"There's a new bite to the air these days. I'd hold classes and office hours outside if I could." Quinn sat back in his chair.

"The kids are still talking about your Thoreau lecture in the quad last semester, the perfect blend of subject and setting," Ian said.

"A Lord of the Rings seminar would work even better out there." Quinn had tried unsuccessfully for years to convince the Council that Tolkien's work was a classic, and should be given a course of its own.

Ian leaned forward. "I think they'll go for it eventually, Quinn. After all, it's a new century; time is the best proving ground."

"Perhaps they will at that. But in the meantime, I've got restless feet, lad, so we'll have to make some adventures of our own."

* * *

The trail stretched out before them, an invitation the men were eager to accept. The wide, gentle slope urged their bikes on over the dirt pathway. Swiftly passing trees dripped with color: burnt umber, sunset orange, old gold. Nature's autumn palette was the richest of the year, burnished by the morning sun.

When they passed a particularly inviting drift to the left of the trail, the two leaned their bicycles against a tree and entered a clearing a few yards from the path. Leaves piled high by the wind formed a multi-colored quilt for Quinn and Ian's use.

Ian windmilled his arms, sending leaves flying in every direction, while he laughed in delight. After the storm had settled, Quinn reclaimed his force of nature with a powerful embrace. The men kissed even before they reached for the bottled water, the stronger imperative easily winning. Ian deepened the kiss, half expecting Quinn to ease back, as he habitually did on the trail.

But this time he didn't.

Quinn met Ian's passion with the full force of his own, practically lifting Ian off the ground as he took possession of his mouth. Ian, used to reining in his desires, was less prepared for Quinn's aggression. Quinn usually saved his ardor for their bedroom. Quinn outdoors, giving in to his need for his lover, drove Ian wild.

They somehow got each other's jackets off while still locked in the kiss. Quinn pressed Ian into the leaves, covering him completely with taut muscle, spurred on by the little sounds that only Quinn got to hear. The leaf pile rustled under and around them, the crackling growing louder as their movements became more erratic.

Still kissing Ian, Quinn cupped his cheek with the right hand, and stroked under his sweatshirt with the left. Ian's wriggling increased, despite Quinn's weight on top of him. Quinn eased off him enough to remove Ian's sweatshirt, then his own, and molded their chests together.

"Love you," Ian panted, hardly able to talk already.

Quinn groaned, and tasted the skin of Ian's brow, feeling it wrinkle in ticklish delight beneath his lips. He looked down into his eyes. "I love you, Ian." He touched his forehead to Ian's, stilling his hips for a moment.

"No worries. We'll hear anyone...long b'fore...they see us." Ian struggled to get the words out between pants.

The backdrop of leaves brought out the russet strands in Ian's hair, and accentuated his flushed cheeks. Quinn could no more resist him here than he could at home. He dove into blue-green eyes so full of love for him that he never wanted to resurface.

* * *

Ian woke to the crisp brush of a leaf over sensitized skin. "They're good for clean-up too, I see," he said, beaming at his lover.

"Versatility, lad, which happens to be your middle name." Quinn's happy rumble was loud in the afternoon forest.

"You inspire me." Ian pulled him down for a satisfied kiss.

"That makes a pair of us, then." Quinn licked the wrinkle between Ian's brows, and sat back on his heels. "Want to move on?"

Ian stretched, crunching their makeshift bed. "Let's go."

Quinn and Ian stood up and started to brush the leaves off one another, hands lingering long after most of them were gone.

Ian playfully batted Quinn's hand away when he strayed to a ticklish patch. "I don't think you'll find anything _there_ ," he said with a grin.

Quinn laughed. "You never know, lad. Don't you want me to be thorough?" He winked, but his wandering fingers were careful to caress Ian, rather than tickle him, after that.

Ian and Quinn ruffled through each other's hair, sending bits of leaf meandering to the forest floor. They combed it with their fingers, aware they'd be back on a public path all too soon. The two then dressed, reluctance in every motion, and got ready for the trail.

After a lingering kiss and some water, they were ready to leave.

Mile after mile flashed by in a kaleidoscope of shifting colors, until the men noticed a little lane branching off from the path. How could they not explore it?

A Victorian 'painted lady' framed in a blaze of color rewarded their curiosity. Predominantly brown, the house was finished with touches of cream and tan in the detailing. A matching banner proclaimed it to be The Wayfarers' Inn, one of the bed and breakfasts dotting the area.

Quinn and Ian grinned at each other, and headed over. The proprietor was Rick Collier, a balding man who gave them a warm smile and checked them in without asking about the number of beds required. When Ian opened the door to their room, he found out why. One king-sized bed awaited their pleasure in blue-tufted majesty.

The innkeeper knew about them.

Discretion had become second nature to Ian and Quinn by now. Every decision had been weighed by that standard, to which their two apartments and calibrated friendliness at work attested. They had gotten used to blending into the mainstream, so they were brought up short by the instant classification of the proprietor.

Unlike their cruise, with its romantic implications, here they had thought themselves just two guys on a bike trip stopover. Apparently not.

They looked distractedly at the other features of the room. A small fireplace faced the bed. Mahogany reproductions of Victorian furniture surrounded them with substantial heft. Pre-Raphaelite lithographs graced the walls, most notably by Rossetti. Flame-hued gerberas spilled over the vase on the dresser.

Quinn and Ian kicked off their sneakers and gravitated to the bed. Quinn rested against a bolster, and Ian sprawled on Quinn's chest.

Ian said, "At least he was friendly."

"I imagine that's good for business," said Quinn mildly.

"Are you embarrassed, love?" Ian nuzzled into Quinn's sweatshirt.

Quinn sighed. "Slightly. It's a bit close to home here."

Ian nibbled Quinn's cheek. "I know what you mean. I wasn't expecting this either."

"At least we can relax now. We don't have to worry about giving ourselves away." Quinn's practicality was reassuring in and of itself.

"There is that," Ian said dryly.

"Well, we have the bed, we have the privacy, and most of all we have each other, so why not take advantage?" Quinn waggled his eyebrows in an attempt to be seductive that missed the mark entirely when Ian dissolved into laughter on Quinn's chest.

Luckily, Quinn was able to change the mood to romantic with a few well-placed nips and kisses. The mattress was softer than theirs at home, and yielded under Quinn's hips decadently when Ian straddled him. Though the king-sized bed had come with a price tag, it would be worth it.

* * *

The men awakened to light streaming in from the windows to the right of them. They'd slept through dinner after exhausting themselves in the unexpected delight of the big bed.

Quinn had thought they'd stay at the campgrounds ten miles up the trail, and was grateful that their curiosity had led them here instead. Who wanted a tent and sleeping bags over rocky ground when there was an inn available?

Basking in the comfort of their sleep-warm bed, Ian and Quinn shared their first kiss of the day, a slow and tender slide into each other's mouths. They intended to shower then, wanting to eat as soon as possible, but hungry fingers gliding over the silk of skin gradually eased into lovemaking.

Eventually, hair still damp on their flannel collars, they made it down to breakfast. A cheery little dining room with ten tables scattered through it awaited them. Two families were already eating there, so they chose a spot a small distance from the chatter.

Mr. Collier came over to take their order of orange juice and pecan waffles with rum maple syrup, followed up by obligatory small talk to gauge if Quinn and Ian were satisfied with their stay so far.

Ian picked up a brochure which detailed activities in the area, to find that there was a country store a mile down the same lane that had brought them here. Cider-pressing and pie baking started in the early afternoon. There was a pumpkin carving contest at 4 pm and a performance of Vivaldi's 'Autumn' in the lobby at 8.

These events were the bread and butter of the autumn tourist season in upstate New York, and this would be Ian and Quinn's first time participating in them together. Last year, the two were still living in New Jersey, and Ian had not had time for them anyway, what with his Ken State courseload and the rigorous Luke hiring process.

"Let's visit the store after breakfast, Quinn." Ian sipped his juice. "I'd like to pick up some fresh apple butter and maple syrup."

"Good idea. Maybe they'll even have those brandied pears I've been looking for." Quinn took a bite of his waffle.

"We'd better have them mailed home. I wouldn't want glass jars in our bicycle baskets."

"When are you going to admit that plastic has its uses?" Quinn's grin was crooked as he brought up their longstanding debate over appropriate dinnerware.

Ian was too smart to answer such a leading question, and effortlessly distracted his lover by brushing Quinn's calf with his own under the tablecloth.

* * *

They started off for the country store, first making a pitstop in their room to use the facilities. The walk was pleasant after all the biking they had done yesterday. Bicycle seats were never comfortable enough, especially now, a failing exacerbated by the amount of time spent on them.

The men had the path to themselves in this rural area, so they strolled hand in hand, delighting in the dappled shade and slow rise that met them. Stands of trees bracketed the walkway, and Ian pointed to one in which the leaf drift was particularly high. He and Quinn shared a nostalgic look, but they were only a quarter mile from the inn, much too close for comfort.

The two stopped for a kiss now and then, the cinnamon in the waffles still tantalizing their tongues as they delved for more of it.

The store was right out of a Rockwell painting: white clapboard exterior, plank floors, bulk groceries, pickle barrels, shelves of preserves. It was alive with chatter and bustle, customers everywhere.

The men found their favorites, then started to browse. Most items were not pre-packaged, and sold by the pound. Nutmeats and unshelled nuts, milled grains, and molasses sugar waited to be scooped up. The produce was irresistibly fresh: five types of apples, sweet potatoes, butternut squash, flame grapes, blackberries, and new corn. Gourds, pumpkins, and Indian corn formed a picturesque pile in one corner.

While the two shopped, they sampled little tidbits on gingham cloths: cheese wedges, homemade pretzel bites, slices of caramel apple, crystallized ginger. Ian added horehound sticks to his basket, while Quinn went for the lemon curd and spice cake.

As they left the store, Ian saw a sign for a crafts fair about half a mile away. Glad that they'd sent their purchases home, Quinn and Ian set off up the road. This time others joined them on the path, so they settled for the brush of sleeves.

The crafts fair turned out to be a collection of tables and tents filled with handmade goods: quilts, sweaters, baby clothes, tablecloths, Christmas decorations, candles, belts, and wallets.

Their old quilt at home had begun to fray, so Ian and Quinn searched out a new one for the back of their sofa. They finally settled on a checked blue and green pattern, reminiscent of the coverlet at The Williamsburg Inn. Luckily, these rural merchants offered modern conveniences, and the quilt was sent to Landowe, just as the foodstuffs had been earlier.

Quinn and Ian headed back to the inn then, more than ready for lunch. They passed other inn guests going to the store and exchanged friendly waves. It grew breezier as the men walked, and they bundled their fleece jackets around them, Quinn's hand rubbing over Ian's back in a brief warming caress.

A blue-enameled wood stove heated the dining room when they sat down for lunch. Mr. Collier came over with menus and a smile for them.

"Did you enjoy yourselves?" Collier asked.

Ian said, "Yes, indeed. This is a lovely area."

The sommelier came to their table, and Collier introduced him to Quinn and Ian. "Gentlemen, this is Aaron Panakian, our wine captain and my partner here at the inn." Something in the way Collier said the word 'partner' infused the word with double meaning.

Ian and Quinn resisted the urge to trade glances, and relaxed for the first time in Collier's presence. The men exchanged greetings, then the professors ordered the house merlot.

The inn had an Octoberfest menu, from which they selected schnitzel with red cabbage, and sat back to relax after their morning ramble. Only one other table was occupied, which allowed them more latitude in their small talk.

Quinn said, "We only planned on an overnight camping trip. Can you afford the extra time, given your workload?"

"Yes. I've already prepared my lecture for Monday and graded essays. I'd like to stay here tonight."

"I'm all set too, so let's go for it."

Their enjoyment of the day increased now that the men knew they had a little vacation ahead of them. The inn was about three hours from Landowe by bike, and they'd have had to leave by 3 pm to make it home by nightfall.

The meal was simple and expertly prepared, and they savored it until the afternoon activities began. Quinn and Ian could smell the pie bake before they reached the innyard. Nutmeg, ginger, and cinnamon wafted in the air around them to blend with the ever-present tang of woodsmoke.

They'd had the foresight not to have dessert, so when the two saw the custom-made pie booth, they went right on over. They asked for a small cranberry apple cobbler, then watched its preparation.

There were picnic benches spread out around the yard, and Ian led the way to one under a maple tree. Quinn rose to get two mugs of cider from the press near the inn door. The two waited for the cobbler to cool, then dug in with spoons provided by the inn.

Any baker knows that fresh from the oven means out of this world, just as the cobbler proved to be. As always, the crumbles were the best part, and the cranberry cut some of the sweetness from the treat.

Well fed, Ian and Quinn returned to their room ready to relax. The men took off jeans and flannel, then snuggled together in bed. After being in public most of the day, and the consequent necessary distancing, they needed to feel one another. The two faced each other, nuzzling and kissing until they fell asleep.

The mid-afternoon sun woke them up. A well-rested Ian was a voracious one, and Quinn knew he'd reap the benefits as soon as he saw the gleam under Ian's lashes. Sure enough, Ian pounced on him, hands to the sides of Quinn's hair, and took his kiss greedily. He had Quinn begging within minutes, then granted his every desire, satisfying himself along the way.

Showering afterwards, they were careful to keep their hair out of the spray; they didn't want to go into the chilly October yard with wet heads.

Pumpkin carving proved to be both enjoyable and messy. They chose their own five pound pumpkins, then tried to carve out traditional jack o'lanterns. Ian's ended up with a lopsided mouth, which had him grinning crookedly to match. Quinn tried to even out the triangular eyes, but they grew ever larger instead, as he kept on shaving off more curls of rind. Finally, Ian stilled his hand with a smile.

"I think that's about the best we can do," Ian said ruefully.

As Quinn surveyed his pumpkin, it stared back at him in accusation. 'Couldn't you have given me a proper face?' it seemed to ask. Unfortunately, the answer was 'no', and he decided to throw in the chisel.

Quinn said, "Too true, lad," and chuckled when their pumpkins were taken to the judging table.

Deservedly ribbonless, they returned to their room for some reading by the fire. The housekeeper had left them freshly baked chocolate chip macadamia cookies and candy corn on the nightstand. The men put the plate on the carpet, brought books, and stretched out on their stomachs by the fireplace. They spent the next hour munching and reading happily.

Needless to say, they had no appetite for dinner. However, their other appetites remained undiminished. Quinn closed his book and glanced over at Ian, to find him smiling expectantly. As their bodies melded together, the men generated more heat than the little fire, and clothing became unwanted for a couple of reasons. Luckily for them, the innkeeper had invested in deep pile bronze carpeting, a luxury that indulged their sensitive bare skin.

The light of the fire flickered over them, teasing their eyes as they teased each other. Eventually, Ian needed more and his urgency incited Quinn to a rousing pace that electrified, then sated, both of them.

After another shower, the two dressed in sweaters and jeans, and hurried down to the lobby for the violin soloist at a few minutes past 8 pm. Many guests were already there, so they had to squeeze together on the couch, an unanticipated benefit of being slightly late.

The violinist was a young woman who introduced herself as a music major at Oberjin College. She launched into an accomplished performance, fingers dancing over the frets lovingly.

Ian and Quinn's closeness and shared warmth, combined with the melody, sent them into a reverie that made a pleasant coda to their day. After the recital, the men went upstairs slowly, still living in the music.

Tired from the many forms of stimulation they'd experienced that day, the two fell asleep in each other's arms, autumnal dreams drifting like leaves over the landscape of their minds.


End file.
